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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878671">His Apple</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Smitten Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:46:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They say a picture is worth 1000 words.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>His Apple</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So if that was true, then why was he speechless every time he looked at any of Aziraphale’s pictures? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he had already used his allotted thousand words the first time he had seen that initial lifelike image of the Angel. Maybe he had only ever uttered a few syllables and every time after that that he had set his eyes upon the gorgeous painting Leonardo made, he had used a few more. Then a few more and again some more until he reached this point of speechless awe he was left in everytime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe every breathless exhale of his was everything he could ever hope to say and at the same time, it was nothing near what he could ever hope to tell Aziraphale. Or perhaps every thought of his, every moment he committed the Angel’s image to memory, the very words he used to describe such a perfect, purely good being were counted towards that goal until he could only stare at the color stained medium that made up Aziraphale’s familiar face and build. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At how something that was such a fragile and inconsequential thing to him before Aziraphale’s image graced it, had managed to capture the Angel’s rosy cheeks, his feather white and down soft hair. Even the exact color of his creamy sun-kissed skin that managed to look ever so soft every time he was able to catch more than just a glimpse of him. That he was able to see anytime they had an actual conversation and he wasn’t shyly averting his eyes that were hidden by tinted glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though it was a wonder having even a mental picture of each new version of Aziraphale hadn’t left him utterly tongue-tied when the invention of the telephone came to be. But still, just at the mere glance of an old treasured image of Aziraphale, he was left utterly speechless and without breath, heart beating pleasantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps at one point, he would have been able to describe aloud every nuance, every little minute detail of Aziraphale’s face and why he found himself unable to look away, but now the words only came in the form of a smile, the quirking of his own lips, and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes as they softened. And at times when he was feeling particularly bold, the smoothing of whichever image he would be looking at as thumbs gently ran over it, tracing the gentle smile that shined softly back at himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Crowley wasn’t sure when he had lost the ability to form audible words at the sight of Aziraphale’s picture, and then pictures, but one thing he did know for sure was that he was completely and irrefutably in love with his best friend. Aziraphale, the Angel who was most definitely his apple, his very own forbidden fruit.</span>
</p>
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